Funky Weird Sci-fi Story Idea That I'm Now In The Beginning Process Of Writing But Haven't Gotten Very

> “mannish features”

> look inside

> literally just common physical traits among women of colour

i already have a job and it's called keeping myself alive. why do i have to be employed on top of that

A tale in 4 parts

Alrighty, here's another scene from the novel I'm (very slowly) writing -------------------------

In the performance hall’s backstage restroom a young woman paced back and forth as she scrolled through instructions on her phone. She had a job to do, she was here to make sure that this was the performers’ final show. There were five targets, identical clones masquerading as “sisters” who formed a k-pop group called Blackhearts. A record company owned by the media conglomerate that she was currently working for held the rights to their music, and their last few albums had not sold well. They had become disposable.

A twinge of guilt ran through her as she saved the performers’ image to her phone. These weren’t corporate spies or power hungry schemers gunning for a sudden promotion, they were performers who’s hype was waning. They needed a PR team, not an assassin, but PR teams were expensive while a half-dozen bullets were not only cheap but could also bring in a quick profit. Sales of their final album would go up for a time, the group’s overhead would disappear, and the company could sign the next up and coming artist while they were still on the rise. It was disgusting, and she hated what she was about to do. She turned to the sink and stared into the dingy bathroom mirror.

“I can’t just not do it,” She said to nobody in particular, guilt and anger growing deep within her. She gazed at her neck in the mirror, picturing the device that lay just beneath her skin. “I have to do it. I don’t have a choice,” she murmured, tapping her foot anxiously. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about it.” She paused, took a deep breath, and shoved the growing guilt and anger as deep down as she could. She had a job to do, she could address these feelings later.

She turned her attention back to her phone and uploaded her target’s photo into the app that controlled her cybernetics. A familiar ache ran beneath her crawling skin as her appearance began to change. Her face grew longer, thinner, accentuated by high cheekbones. Short, wavy red hair darkened, straightened, and grew until it was a shining black that flowed down to the small of her back. Emerald green eyes turned sky blue and tan freckled skin became an unblemished pale. When the changes finished she looked to the mirror and gave a cold grin. Nobody would think twice about a performer walking into her own dressing room.

The Onion pulling zero fucking punches.

Hey are you offended by the word bitch? I'm going to send you a hate anon, but I saw that you go by she/her and I respect women

don't let anything stop u from being a hater king

So not that long ago the group that I take part in writing workshops with did a workshop on Haiku and Haibun, and I went a little off the deep end and wrote a funky sci-fi short story Haibun thing. Anyway, here you go. *Note: I might end up editing and changing it later. ------------------------------

The docking bays stand tall over the promenade, a pier of iron and steel beneath which roam hundreds of arriving faces. Shuttlecrafts slowly empty themselves of scavengers and refugees, survivors who have seen their homes destroyed. Around me every face has been marred by desperation and every arrival is heralded with relief.

Sea of brown and gray Hungry mouths, aching bodies Safe for the first time

Legends stalk through the crowd, saviors from a bygone age. A steel-suited force once thought forgotten. Staves, swords, knives, guns, all equally deadly in their iron grip. It is hard not to notice the breaks and dents in their once exquisite armor.

Warriors of Old Leaving their worlds behind Battle among stars

Through the translucent sheen of the docking bay’s energy shield we watch as our once blue and green home is overtaken by a swath of shining red. The promenade’s steel booths, once dedicated to trade and commerce, are repurposed and used to distribute food among the starving crowd. A violent plague sweeps across the planet below, and we know we will never return.

Eating at long last A first night among many Watching our world burn

Days become weeks, weeks become months as our would be saviours repeatedly plunge to the planet below. Whispers of small victories spread through the station’s corridors, rumors of safe havens and thriving populations feeding desperate hopes. It would be easy to miss that our saviours’ numbers seem smaller with each return they make.

Battling the plague Plunging Heroes Fall Beneath The Hope of Masses

The station slumbers, its people adhering to their anachronous routines, small comfort for the displaced. My footfalls ring out among reticent corridors, the night quiet giving its own familiar ease. Reprieve is broken as metal clashes. Nearly hidden, two legends quarrel.

A knife is fumbled Shining steel shears armor Sword slides between ribs

Hasty, heavy footfalls rush from the secluded battlefield before fading into obscurity. Unseen, I approach the fallen champion, unprepared to give the aid I offer. Their wound does not bleed, streaks of red splayed beneath steel skin. Trembling hands open damaged armor, as I make my greatest mistake.

Plague engulfing me Tendrils through body and mind It’s taking control

My world becomes red. All consuming Rage. All Consuming Hunger. No Me, only Us. One body perishing, the other still weak. The enemy’s strength lies ready before us. Our forming corpse drags itself from the wreckage. Our weakling slides inside. We are weak no longer.

Wielder unwell Infestation levels high Simply will not do

WE CANNOT BE PURGED. Pain runs through our body, lightning through my bones. THERE IS NO YOU, THERE IS US. Screaming assaults my ears, my mouth dry from the exertion. YOUR TIME IS LIMITED. THERE IS STILL ANOTHER. Vision grows black, consiousness fades.

Recover, wearer. Infection levels dropping, You will be alright

An electronic voice speaks into my ear as my eyes slowly open. A steel second skin covers me, though I do not feel it’s weight. I begin to sit, to stand, slow careful movements made easier on my aching body by armored systems I do not understand. My eyes catch sight of the corpse beside me and it is made clear, plague has reached us.

Carrier running Searching for the next victim To give to the plague

Screaming pulls me from my stupor and I begin to run. As I near the sound, I find three survivors laying before me, red streaks running from superficial wounds. ‘They have been infected,’ the voice informs me moments before they begin to stand. They lunge, but I am armored and they are not.

Blood now on my hands Refugees become corpses I do what I must

Running. Fighting. Running. Fighting. I pour through the hallway, my steel steps echoing just behind my mark’s. Each moment his steps seem closer. Each moment my armored hands are stained with more of the blood of fellow survivors. I see him turn a corner and he is mine at last.

Nowhere left to run I must bring this to an end Lest he doom us all

His rust-red sword lashes out, skilled, but worn. Expert strikes slowed by fatigue are easily dodged. He pulls back and begins to circle, I cannot let him recover.

Fist stands against sword A sharp pain through my belly I cannot fail here

YOU COULD HAVE BEEN US. My arms wraps around him, pinning his in place. NOW YOU SHALL PERISH. My head impacts his again and again. WE SHALL BECOME ALL. He struggles, but despite my wound he cannot escape. YOUR EFFORTS ARE FUTILE. His body goes limp, but I continue until my own sight grows dark.

Neophyte Legend Dying alongside first foe Fate has other plans

Bright light in my eyes awakens me. Rage, Hunger within my mind. Deep breaths keep it calm as my body recovers. Months pass, armor and body are both repaired but my mind is not the same. I will learn to manage. Soon I take my first plunge.

Fighting planetside I can sense its location A boon from my curse

Armored warriors, we battle the plague below. An unexpected boon becomes our greatest strength. We gain ground, make progress, and our numbers remain strong. In moments of reprieve my mind turns to the station above.

Watchers from above Spots of blue on a red sphere Fueling their hopes

I'm curious. Reblog this if you know how to cook

I don’t even care if it’s macaroni, ramen or those little bowls you stick in the microwave. Please, I need reassurance that most of the population on tumblr WOULDN’T STARVE TO DEATH if their parents couldn’t fix them food or they couldn’t go out to eat. 

Mine was a Reuben at the Falling Sky brewery in Eugene, Oregon back in 2013 when I was attending college classes while homeless. It had been raining and I needed somewhere dry, something to eat, and a place to work on homework so I ordered what turned out to be the best sandwich of my life along with a blackberry mead.

this is so real and never leaves me